


Anniversary Day Treats

by Leela, qafmaniac



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, First Kiss, M/M, Memories, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela, https://archiveofourown.org/users/qafmaniac/pseuds/qafmaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hands-down, the absolute worst, most painful day every year was one that no one but Stiles and his mother ever knew about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary Day Treats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittys_devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittys_devil/gifts).



> **Artist** : qafmaniac
> 
>  **Beta** : @aislinntlc
> 
>  **A/N** : For @kittys_devil, in exchange for her donation to keep @qafmaniac's pretty things up and running. Hope you like this, bb. ♥ ♥

The anniversary of Stiles' mother's death wasn't the hardest day of his year. Neither was her birthday or his parents' wedding anniversary, or any of those special days that everyone talked about. Hands-down, the absolute worst, most painful day every year was one that no one but Stiles and his mother ever knew about. 

It was the anniversary of a day she took him out for ice cream. Stiles had been seven years old at the time and had come home from school crying the day before. Instead of telling him to buck up, or that it was okay to be different, his mom had hugged him and told him she loved him. Then she'd called both of them in sick the next day and had spent the entire day with him. Just him. Not him and his dad. Or him and anyone else. 

They'd done it every year after that, skipping school and work to spend the day together. In the years when the date fell on a weekend or a day when his dad was working nights, she'd move it to another day, because the important thing was to sneak out together.

After she died, Stiles continued the tradition. One day a year, he called in sick, no matter whether it was school or work, and he took himself out for ice cream. Year in and year out, just him and the memory of his mom.

Stiles shook himself and pushed open the door to the Barton's Ice Cream Emporium. It was quiet, as it always was during the school day. The noise made by the group of mothers with kids in strollers hardly counted against the wall of sound that the high school kids made after school. Not that it mattered

"Hi Stiles. No friends today?" Emmy Barton peered behind him, as if expecting someone. When he didn't say anything, her smile dimmed. She pulled a few stray hairs off her face and reached for a scoop. "Your usual?"

"No. It's not that kind of day. I'll have—" Stiles had to stop and swallow against the dry lump in his throat. "Give me a hot fudge sundae with butterscotch swirl ice cream, sprinkles, and two cherries on top." He paused to clear his throat. "Cherries with the stems," he said. "And a double scoop in a bowl with bubblegum and rocky road. And vanilla."

"Seriously? A double is two scoops, you know. I'm blonde, Stiles, not dumb."

"No," Stiles said, then, "I mean, yes. Or not. I guess. I could do that, right? There's really no reason not to." 

Emmy paused, holding a scoop overfilled with vanilla above the takeout container. "Yes or no?"

"Yes!" As soon as Stiles' blurted out the word, he closed his mouth and forced himself not to say anything. Some things were just not for sharing, not with Emmy Barton, not even with Scott.

But, seriously, what the hell was he thinking? Vanilla wasn't traditional. He hadn't even liked it when he was a kid. All that plain white boringness with no yummy goodies to make his tongue happy.

For some reason that was way beyond his ability to understand, Stiles just stood there and watched her add it to his bowl. He even just handed his money over and took the bag from her without complaint, although he did walk out without saying goodbye.

And that totally made up for changing what should never be changed. Totally.

Shifting the bag to his other hand, Stiles carefully checked the street for everyone he knew — because he could totally do surreptitious no matter what his so-called friends claimed — before heading down the narrow space between Barton's and the Cash'N Carry.

The walk between the buildings, through the gap in the back fence, and along the not-quite-path under the trees was more overgrown than Stiles remembered it being before. He ducked beneath branches, pushed bits of shrub out of his way, and stepped on crunchy and squishy things he absolutely didn't want to identify. Eventually though he made it to their place with only a couple of scratches and a few itchy spots on his legs and arms. 

His brain automatically catalogued the scents. Even without wolfie senses, the area wasn't just a morass of green things but tons of individual plants that he knew how to use.

So much change. Every single year was different, bringing something new, someone new, into Stiles' life. 

The once-tiny pond was green with algae, and the rains had filled it so much that the water lapped against the flat rock where he'd once sat next to his mom and let her comfort him. Instead of being warm from the sun, the grey stone felt cold through his jeans.

"Hi, mom," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "I brought you ice cream. Your favorite." His breathing hitched as he opened the bag. "Weather's kinda cold today, but at least it's not raining."

_Just wait a couple of minutes, sweetheart. The ice cream will be perfect for eating then._

"It's gonna take more than that to get it all soft and melty the way you like it, mom."

Stiles sniffed and rubbed the end of his nose. 

"All the better for me, I guess."

Birds and the wind rustling through the trees filled the silence as Stiles pulled the lids off and settled the hot fudge sundae in a shallow depression up near the top of the stone. He touched the plastic bowl. It rocked, and he almost knocked it over trying to still it. 

_Be careful. You don't want to get ice cream all over your clothes. Bubblegum stains, and we don't want to have to tell your daddy what we did today._

A laugh caught in the back of Stiles' throat but didn't quite become a sob. His mom had made the same bad joke every year, and they'd giggled together every single time. He missed that, his mom's smile and the way it lit up her entire face. It had always made him feel special, like he was the best person ever just for making her smile. 

When he could talk again, he murmured, "Miss you, Mom," to the empty space next to the sundae.

Stiles dug his plastic spoon into the bubblegum ice cream. Sweetness and love filled his mouth. He curled his tongue around the pieces of bubblegum and swallowed the ice cream. Then he started chewing the gum, tried to blow a bubble and failed, as always.

"I'm such a loser," he said. "A straight A student, and I can't blow a bubble to save my life." 

_Don't break your tongue trying._

"I'd blow a bubble for you, if you needed one."

Flailing with shock, Stiles began to topple off the stone. Isaac was there in an instant, catching him and his bowl of ice cream before they fell. An ache slamming through his chest, Stiles flinched. Not because it was Isaac — because... _Isaac_ — but because it was touch, in this place, where no one had ever touched him but his mom.

"Sorry," Isaac said. "So sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

Stiles pushed himself off Isaac and took his bowl back. He hugged it for a moment, staring wide-eyed at Isaac. He had no idea what to say, so he finally just said, "It's okay. I just didn't expect you. Or anyone. Because no one ever comes here. I mean, really the place to be if you don't want to run into random homicidal maniacs."

"Just you and your ice cream?"

"And no random homicidal maniacs. That's not something to ever be underestimated. Ever."

"Werewolves don't count?" Isaac ran a hand through his hair, ducked his head, and gave Stiles a shy smile. 

"Nope. Not you anyway. Peter Hale's a completely different beast, because—" He flung an arm out and gave Isaac a pointed look "—you know."

To Stiles' relief, Isaac's smile widened and he clearly understood. Without Stiles having to explain everything, and that was so fucking awesome that Stiles had no words for it. 

Isaac flapped a hand toward the path. "So, I should probably leave you then. To your ice cream and the decided lack of homicidal maniacs."

"No," Stiles blurted out then stared at Isaac in shock. Where the hell had that come from? He was supposed to be alone. He was always alone. With his ice cream and his mom's ice cream. And maybe a few frogs and bugs. And an occasional vermin-type creature that he'd never wanted to identify. Which was as good as being alone. 

"You don't want me to leave?" Isaac frowned, looking confused and lost. "You want to eat ice cream with me?"

It made Stiles want to hug him. How could Isaac even feel that way? How could he not know how special he was?

Glancing down at his hands, Stiles held up the bowl before he could change his mind. "Ice cream?"

"Stiles, I..." Isaac stuttered into silence. The expression on Isaac's face just about killed Stiles. It was sad and hopeful and as if he'd been offered more than just ice cream. Which he had, because this was Stiles' anniversary day treat, but Isaac didn't know that.

"You don't have to," Stiles said when Isaac didn't respond.

"I do." Isaac scratched a hand through his hair. "I mean I want to."

"So do I. Want you to, that is." And Stiles did, even if he didn't have a fucking clue why, because this was Isaac and Isaac didn't have anything or anyone except maybe Derek Hale, who wasn't exactly someone to have as far as Stiles could tell. Although he was still better than Isaac's dad who'd—

Shutting down that train of thought before his mind could babble its way into _Here be dragons_ territory, Stiles slid over and patted the rock next to him, on the side that wasn't reserved for his mom and her ice cream.

They sat for a couple of minutes. Their bodies touched at the shoulders and along their thighs, and Isaac was balancing himself with one hand on the stone behind Stiles' back, close enough for Stiles to feel the heat from it. He kept feeling like he should say something, explain, but he didn't know how. All the words that came to mind were nothing more than smoke and mirrors, hiding why he was really there, and he didn't want to do that to Isaac. 

"It's melting," Isaac said.

"Huh?"

"The ice cream. It's melting."

"Oh. Do you want?" Stiles offered the bowl to Isaac. "I've got... umm... bubble gum and rocky road and... umm... vanilla, which doesn't have any fun stuff but—" 

"I like it." 

"What? Which one?"

"Vanilla. It's the one my dad bought me, back when... you know."

"Oh, hey, yes, That's good." Something like terror that he'd somehow known, but not known this, made Stiles' hand jerk and the plastic spoon rattled against the plastic bowl. 

"You okay?"

There was no answer to that, not one that Stiles could share anyway, so he said, "We'll have to share a spoon."

Isaac's eyes cut to the other bowl with its spoon pushed into the side of the sundae. "All right."

_I'll give you some of mine if you give me some of yours._

A floaty feeling surrounded Stiles as he offered Isaac a spoonful of vanilla, holding the bowl underneath just in case. Isaac leaned down, closed his mouth around the spoon, and took the ice cream. The look on Isaac's face, of dreamy ecstasy and aching sorrow, matched Stiles' mood so perfectly that he found himself trying a bit of vanilla. 

It wasn't as boring as he'd expected, creamy and cold and delicious. 

"It's good," Isaac said, so Stiles offered him another spoonful.

They continued like that, sharing the ice cream, with Stiles giving Isaac all the vanilla and alternating between bubblegum and rocky road for himself, until the vanilla was almost gone. 

Then Isaac asked, almost diffidently, as if he expected to be told no, "Can I try some bubblegum?"

The spoon was almost halfway to Stiles' mouth, and he almost said no because the bubblegum was his treat.

_You know you can tell me anything, right? I won't say anything to your dad unless you want me to. And it's okay to like boys, or boys and girls._

Except this was Isaac, who was beautiful and sweet and good at lacrosse and all the things that Stiles wasn't. And he was here, with Stiles.

Isaac's tongue flicked out, pink and wet, to lick the underside of the spoon, catching a drip before it fell. Stiles couldn't take his eyes off it, off Isaac's lips as they closed over the ice cream. And Isaac's almost growled hum of pleasure sent a shiver through Stiles, raising goosebumps on his skin.

"'S good," Isaac mumbled. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He chewed for a few seconds, then his lips formed an O and he blew a tiny bubble.

Stiles' heart tripped a thudding beat. 

"For you," Isaac said, looking directly into Stiles' eyes. He sucked the bubble inside, swallowed again, leaning closer. "Tell me no."

"Yes," Stiles said, because it was contrary, and because it was what he wanted and what he needed and totally awesomely right.

The bowl of melted ice cream and the spoon tumbled out of Stiles' hand as he shifted closer to Isaac, pressing up against him. He wrapped his arms around Isaac, and Isaac held him close.

Stiles kissed Isaac back. He licked Isaac's soft lips and then into his mouth. Isaac tasted sweet, hot and cold, and like all the things that Stiles had ever wanted.

When the kiss broke, Isaac smiled and squeezed him in a hug. "I didn't think you would ever," he began. Then he brushed a kiss over Stiles' lips instead of finishing. 

"Me either," Stiles said, and he all but curled into Isaac's arms. 

Isaac didn't ask annoying questions that Stiles couldn’t answer. He seemed to understand anyway, hugging Stiles closer and holding on like he never wanted to let Stiles go. 

It wasn't tradition. It wasn't ice cream alone with the wind and the bugs and Stiles' memories. But it was even more perfect because of that.

_I love you, Stiles. Always. No matter what._


End file.
